


Pink Silk Bitch

by SnowStormSkies



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, Kaulizcest, M/M, Multi, Panties, Twincest, cross dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:37:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStormSkies/pseuds/SnowStormSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Tom zips up his own jeans with significantly less force and smooths his t-shirts back down. The tension in the room is rising, partly from the concert, a lot from the anticipation of what’s to come tonight. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>He can’t wait. </p><p>He's a Pink Silk Bitch and it’s actually not that bad. Much. If Bill would stop drinking his tea. And Georg stops riding his ass. And Gustav put the crop down. And if he could actually get some luck on his side. Maybe then Tom could get some goddamn luck on his side, and enjoy these sorts of nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picking the Panties

  
_**Chapter One** _

_Picking the Panties_   


 

  
Tom is praying, absolutely begging the gods above that he isn’t sure he believes in that he comes out with the result he doesn’t fucking want but needs. If he could get on his knees he would, but then he’d just cement his fate and he’s got a little bit more dignity than that.  
  
For now, anyway.  
  
Georg holds out the black plastic bag, waving it as though to tempt Tom. “Come on, Kaulitz. Pick one out.”  
  
“Shut up!” Tom licks his lips, looks over at Bill who’s clutching his prize in his hand and looking worried. “I-I’m thinking!”  
  
“You know the penalty, Tom.” Gustav leans over Georg’s shoulder, “Thirty seconds to pick or the Master picks for you…”  
  
“Stop talking!”  
  
“Five. Four—”  
  
Tom bites his lip, closes his eyes, and reaches his hand into the bag, pulling out the first bit of material he can grab. It feels soft, silky, and he prays it’s the right colour.  
  
“Oh, Tom…” Bill’s voice is smug, and Tom whimpers even before he opens his eyes. “Poor, poor Tomi…”  
  
“Fuck. You.” He’s glaring at the prize clutched in his hand, and Georg is grinning at him. Gustav’s face is impassive, but in his eyes there’s a glint that’s dark and dangerous, and Tom knows that tonight is not his night.  
  
“Now, now…” Bill laughs, “Play nicely, Tom…”  
  
“I want a second go!” Tom makes a grab for the bag, but Georg whisks it away. “Georg!”  
  
“Sorry, Tom. You know the rule — one go, and one go only.” He hands the bag to Gustav, and Tom stomps his foot in frustration.  
Why him?  
  
Because it is. It’s always him. Every fucking time, it’s him who pulls out the wrong colour panties, or the wrong size, or the wrong type, and he’s always the one who has to pay the price. The price that the Game Master picks and he’s never the fucking Game Master and he’s clutching a pair of panties that couldn’t win him anything except the award for the least manly panties ever.  
  
Yeah. Panties.  
  
If you asked him at thirteen what he thought a rockstar lifestyle would mean, Tom would have said hot chicks, parties, booze, and loud music, and that wouldn’t have covered the half of it. Never in a million years would have he have predicted he’d be gathering up panties from the stage after a concert, washing them by hand in bathroom sinks of hotels, and slipping them in the black bag of fucking doom.  
  
Well, actually, the bag is from a clothing store and its presence indicates the beginning of a really nice night, but right now, he isn’t feeling too fond of it.  
  
In Georg’s hand is another set of underwear. He had pulled out a discreet pair of black cotton boyfriend shorts, tight but not actually that feminine, and it means he’s in charge tonight — the less feminine the underwear, the further up the rank in the post-concert sex games you are. Georg picked the least feminine pair ever, and so he gets top rank. It’s something he won’t let Tom forget all day now, but actually… that’s not so bad.  
  
Georg has the best ideas and the most amazing stuff from real sex shops — he’s the only one brave enough to actually buy it but Tom loves the handcuffs — no, he doesn’t, Tom has to remind himself. He doesn’t like the handcuffs, or the collars or the blindfolds or the horrible paddle that Gustav so loves. He hates the toys and the panties, and the cock rings, and everything else this pair of panties will be bringing him tonight.  
  
And he really hates Bill’s fascination with the stockings.  
  
It shouldn’t have surprised him that Bill likes the finer things in life, but it did. From the first time Bill pulled out a beautiful silk camisole set from the bag, he’d been hooked on feminine lingerie, avidly buying fashion magazines that featured spreads of the garments on beautiful models, comparing prices and makes and cuts and designs of the different brands, calculating how to get the most bang for his buck, as the saying goes.  
  
Tom bears a lot of the results.  
  
He is so sick of the stockings, the thigh-highs, camisoles, and the corsets with ribbons and lace and silk and laces that have to done up by Georg and Gustav because Bill doesn't have the strength to lace him tight enough. Bill loves them but only on Tom... And himself... Georg takes pleasure in lacing Tom up so tight that he can hardly breathe... Gustav just watches. And wishes he could take photos.  
  
He's done with the soft material, the gentle rasp of the lace tops, and the cool feel of the corset before it warms to his skin. He's tired of the hot pink, the deep wine burgundy, the pastel blue, the rich forest green.... He doesn't like it. Really. Hates it. _Despises_ it , really.  
  
Honest.  
  
Bill dangles his silk, high-cut knickers in the air over his head as he sips hot tea — tea he has stolen from Tom, no less. The white bow on the waistband and the white lace around the elastic waist and legs are the only colour or decoration. They are sexy but practical, and again, not that feminine or overtly pretty, but more so than Georg’s or Gustav’s. He’s grinning now that he knows he’s not going to be getting the short end of the stick that Tom’s got thrust upon him by chance.  
  
“I hate you. All of you.”  
  
“Shut up, Tom.” Gustav holds his own prize in his hands, a dark burgundy pair of panties unadorned with anything because they’re sheer and seamless in silk. Georg judged them to be the second least feminine, and thus Gustav is second-in-command tonight, much to Bill’s disgust. “You know the rules.”  
  
“I’ve been your bit — I’ve got the worst pair the last five times! At least! And the time before that, you called top rules and then I still ended up on the bottom!” Actually, they're twenty two days into this tour and Tour Rules, and they've played eleven Games nights.  
  
Tom has been either the bitch or the second bitch every time.  
  
Georg has been Games Master seven times, Gustav three times, and Bill once. Tom? **Never**.  
  
And by God, Tom wants them to know he's seriously unimpressed with the way the cards have fallen on this tour... He knows he’s whining, bitching about stuff he shouldn’t because it’ll only come back to bite him in the ass tonight, but he’s clutching just about the worst pair of panties he could have picked and he is gonna fucking make his point.  
  
Unless Georg makes his first.  
  
He stands up: crowds close into Tom’s space, pushing him backwards with just the look in his eyes and his physical bulk. Even though Tom can look eye to eye with him — maybe even boast a few inches more in height if he stops slouching — he can’t compete with Georg’s broad chest and big muscles. He’s still woefully skinny, looking like a twiglet with dreadlocks, and when Georg presses Tom back into the wall, forcing him to retreat, Tom clutches the panties in his hand and tries to avoid Georg’s intense gaze.  
  
“Look at me,” Georg demands.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Stop being a bitch, Tom. Save it for tonight!”  
  
“Shut up, Bill.” Georg doesn't even look around as he snaps back at Bill.  
  
“Why? He’s going to be a bitch tonight—”  
  
“And you’re second bitch.” Gustav grins. “So suck it up, bitch two.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Tom grins as Bill squawks in angry surprise, but Georg lifts up Tom’s chin, redirecting his attention, forcing their eyes to meet. “You alright with it?”  
  
“I’m sick of being on the bottom.” He isn’t.  
  
Tom really fucking isn’t.  
  
He loves the feeling of Gustav over him, rocking into his ass with slow, steady strokes; Georg inside of him, slamming home as he holds Tom down with just one hand between his shoulder blades, telling him to take it and beg for more.  
  
 He even loves Bill using his long fingers and the thick lube to spread him wide for the toys that Georg has suddenly developed a taste for.  
  
The slim vibrators, the slender dildos, the discreet butt plugs that he makes the bitch wear around the studio or even when the bitch has to duck out and go get the pizza and shit.... the padded but sturdy restraints....  
  
Tom doesn’t hate it at all; it’s the only time in his busy, hypermasculine-imaged world he can relax, let someone else do what they want to him, and he’s never regretted letting Georg and Bill and Gustav fuck him because he’s had the bad luck to pull out the wrong panties.  
  
Or wished for them, in fact.  
  
But he feels like he should protest it because Georg being Master means that he gets a thorough work—over, and they have a busy week ahead and he’s gonna feel it forever.  
  
“I’m not the bitch!” Bill is still indignant and Gustav grins.  
  
“Yeah, you’re second bitch. Get over it.”  
  
“I don’t want to be!”  
  
“Tough shit.” Bill glares at the little white bows on the panties that betrayed him, and Tom can’t help the urge to snigger. So much for Bill being on top tonight — Gustav’s gonna be riding his ass all night long.  
  
“Oi.” Georg reaches under Tom’s shirt, asking Tom to give him his attention by rubbing a thumb over Tom’s nipple, and it’s a fucking dirty trick because Tom has a bit of a … a nipple thing — no, it’s **not** just a _thing_. It’s a nipple problem, okay? He’s gonna have to go to the fucking doctor because he’s got something wrong because they’re fucking connected to his cock via an express route, and he leans back against the wall, already feeling the buzz of pleasure start to rise. “You’re so predictable, Tom,” Georg teases as he strokes Tom’s nipple with one hand and presses the heel of the other to Tom’s groin. “Gonna treat you good tonight, though. Gonna take care of you.”  
  
“You’re a…” Tom moans, loses his train of thought halfway through, and has to restart the sentence when Georg reminds him. “You’re a bas—”  
  
“Ah, Tom.” Georg licks a hot, wet stripe down his neck. “Tonight, your ass is in my hands. Be careful what you say…”  
  
“I love you?” He doesn’t know why he says it, and Georg grins, biting softly on his earlobe at the uncharacteristic words.  
  
“Sure you do. Let’s see if you love me after you ride me until you're raw.”  
  
“Oh.” He’s gonna feel that in the morning.  
  
Tom can hear the crowd outside the door murmuring, the noise rising because they’re due on in twenty minutes, and they still have to finish getting "dressed."  
  
“Put your panties on.” Georg takes the panties in Tom’s hands, and holds them to Tom’s waist. The pale pink silk feels cool against Tom’s fingers as he reaches down, and the bow on the waistband brushes against his thumb. “Put them on and leave them on.”  
  
“I can’t…” The panties are so soft and Tom is so sensitive that attempting to play a full concert wearing them will be almost impossible. He’ll be on stage, hard and horny, his guitar pressed against the bulge in his jeans, his nipples hard and throbbing as he tries to stop from going to his knees in front of all those fangirls, bathed in bright light with Gustav’s beats running under his skin, and Georg’s eyes on him, and Bill coming over to touch him, to go to his knees before Tom, to provoke him into even greater levels of pleasure.  
  
It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again before this tour is over.  
  
“I want you to.” Georg’s eyes are dark. “Both of you.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Bill is outraged, hot and bothered about wearing his panties on stage because he’s just like Tom — sensitive and too easily aroused and they’re both _performance whores_ , as Gustav likes to call them. Tom’s lost count of the number of times he’s popped wood on stage, been so hard he’d been desperate enough to actually hump his guitar in front of ten thousand fangirls.  
  
His thumb strokes against the panties and Georg’s eyes are very green today.  
  
“Both of you, panties on.” He speaks to both of them, but his eyes are on Tom only and his voice is dark.  
  
“Y-yes…” Tom nods, and over Georg’s shoulder, Bill clutches his own panties in a white-knuckled hand. Tom knows it’s because Bill doesn’t like being on the bottom, doing as he told, because he’s _high-strung_ according to Mama and _bitch-tastic_ according to Gustav.  
  
“Go on, then.” Georg steps back, sprawling on the couch beside Gustav, and they watch with lazy smirks as Tom and Bill share identical looks of trepidation.  
  
Georg enjoys pushing the boundaries, challenging them to do something new each time he’s in charge, and Gustav is a big fan of anything where he gets to exert control, and now Tom tries to remember how his fingers are supposed to work as he lifts up his shirts, works the button of his jeans.  
  
Bill bitches quietly at them all, muttering under his breath but all it takes is one harsh look from Gustav and his jeans too hit the floor and he’s got two fingers hooked into the side of his boxers.  
  
“Come on, Bill. Move it.” Georg orders as he carelessly brushes a thumb over his own dick contained in his jeans, and Bill groans as he pulls his underwear down, fumbling to kick them off and put the black panties on.  
  
“Tom?” And now that Gustav’s paying attention, Tom has an advantage over Bill because his long shirts might earn him his brother’s derision but they cover everything so Tom can just shimmy — _slide_ , for fuck’s sake, at least use manly words — his jeans down, step out of them and his boxers and nobody can see anything.  
  
He slides the panties up his legs, shivering at the sensation of the silk and the soft mesh side panels, but Georg is disappointed with the show, as is Gustav.  
  
And Bill.  
  
“Not fair!” He points at Tom in indignant outrage because he had to reveal everything and Tom’s gotten away with barely flashing up to his knees. If Bill is gonna be second bitch, he’s gonna make sure that at least Tom is gonna know his pain.  
  
Tom's not having it.  
  
“Shut up. You chose your style, and I chose mine. Not my fault mine’s so much better,” Tom snipes back, and it helps that Gustav clears his throat or there might have been a real battle between them and they’ve only got ten minutes before they have to go face the music.  
  
“Play nicely, Bill,” Gustav warns, and Bill snarls because he knows that Gustav’s gonna ride his ass the entire night because that’s how Gustav plays, and Bill hates being subservient to anyone.  
  
“When those come off, I expect a show.” Georg’s voice is deep and gravelly and Tom is already wishing the concert was over and he was back at the hotel.  
  
“Fuck you,” Bill huffs as he yanks his jeans up, zipping them up with such ferocity that the little metal tab on the zip snaps off in his fingers. “God damnit!”  
  
“Serves you right… bitch.” Georg raises an eyebrow, and Bill fumes but he can’t do anything because it was totally his fault. “Sit down and shut up, Bill, for God’s sake, or I’ll stick you in the gag tonight.”  
  
“Yes,  _Georg_ ,” Bill snaps but he sits down and drinks more of Tom’s tea because the gag is not an idle threat and Bill needs to be able to speak like the rest of the world needs oxygen.  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
Tom zips up his own jeans with significantly less force and smooths his t-shirts back down. The tension in the room is rising, partly from the concert, a lot from the anticipation of what’s to come tonight.  
  
He can’t wait.

 

 

 

 

From Jungfrauliebe's tumblr


	2. Ride me Raw

 

 

_**Chapter Two** _

_**Ride me Raw  
** _

 

“Strip, Bill.”  
  
Georg lounges on the hotel bed, hard and naked except for his own boyshort panties as he commands Tom and Bill. Gustav leans on a chair on the far side of the bed, content to watch for now, his own panties in place.  
  
They went ahead, set up Georg's room with the Play Bag, and Bill and Tom had been told to wait two hours, in their own rooms.  
  
Naked.  
  
Tom had showered, already hard in anticipation of the night head but Georg had used his authority as the Games Master to order them not to wank off and Tom had had no choice but to leave his dick alone, lie back on his bed and stare at the ceiling. Only when Georg had texted them both to get dressed could Tom put on a new set of clothes and make his way to Georg's room.  
  
Now inside, it seems Georg is in no mood to take it slow....  
  
Bill doesn't seem to appreciate this. “Fine,” He snaps, yanking off his t-shirt with sharp, jerky movements before moving onto his jeans, and kicking off his shoes and socks. It’s graceless, unsexy, going completely against what is expected from the second bitch, and Gustav’s impressive control breaks.  
  
“You wanna play like that? We can play, bitch.” He clicks his fingers, points to the carpet in front of him. “On your knees. Here.” And when Bill doesn’t move, Gustav stands up, moves towards Bill,  “Here, now.”  
  
“Fuck you, Gustav….” Bill looks far too brave for just standing there in his panties, fists clenched by his sides and Tom _knows_ that Bill wouldn’t hurt Gustav but he really does look like he’s squaring up for a fight.  
  
“On your knees. Now.” Gustav’s voice doesn’t brook any insubordination and Tom almost obeys even though the order isn’t for him.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Give me a reason,” Gustav stands eye to eye with Bill, and even though there’s inches difference, Gustav somehow seems a lot taller than Bill right now. A lot bigger. “Give me one reason, Bill.”  
  
“…Screw. You.”  
  
Gustav breaks again, and there’s a scuffle as Bill is dragged to kneel before the chair, and Tom is left on his own by the door. Bill loves to test people, push as hard as he can, and Gustav’s the same. When they clash, it’s impressive and it seems tonight is going to be one of those nights when they’re fighting for control.  
  
“You wanna play, Bill, we can play.” Gustav snarls, and it’s a really scary one, a low sound that signals Bill’s imminent fall from grace, “Get on your fucking knees, bitch.”  
   
“Bitch!? You can’t call me th—” —Bill tries to kick out, but Gustav is both strong and quick, and there is nothing that can be done but to submit to their drummer’s demand. Bill is on his knees in front of the chair, head bowed and panting under Gustav’s steady hands in a few seconds. It’s like watching a man break a horse and it happens over and over – every time they play, pretty much, Gustav and Bill fighting to get the other to submit.  
  
“Your turn, Tom.” Georg makes no comment on Gustav’s actions, and when Tom goes to speak, ask something that he can’t actually think of, Georg says, “Shush. Clothes off.”  
  
Tom obeys.  
  
Maybe it’s because Georg expects it of him and so he has to do it, and maybe it’s because he’s starting to feel warm across the back of his neck and in the pit of his belly as he anticipates what’s coming. But, the long and short of it is that soon he’s standing in the centre of the room in only a pair of pink silk and mesh panties, and he’s absolutely rock hard.  
  
“Good boy.” Georg throws Tom a pair of cuffs: nice and thick leather ones with soft padding on the inside.  
  
“New?”  
  
“Fifty euros, yesterday.” Georg is maybe a little bit of a freak in bed, and it’s kind of turning Tom on a lot, because he’s too scared to walk into a sex shop and just slam a bunch of shit down on the counter. But Georg has no shame apparently, and he regularly has deliveries from _Eros_ and _The Bee Box_ , and isn’t even afraid to go into the shops themselves.  
  
He has a Class Gold member’s card to both, and Tom doesn’t even want to think about how much you have to spend in one go to get one of those.  
  
But when he sees those white boxes or the plain black bags that Georg brings home, he knows he'll always love the next Games Night and it's a prediction that hasn't failed him yet. Georg has brought home everything from vibrators to lingerie, handcuffs to blindfolds, dildos to canes and everything in between and when they’re in the studio or on down time there’s always even more to choose from. When they’re on tour, there’s a limit to how much Georg can bring or buy, which is, in Tom’s opinion, a big shame.    
  
Studio Games Nights are even better than the Tour ones, especially when it comes to being the bitch.  
  
The first and second switch places; Gustav leaves Bill with his head on the edge of the chair, on his knees with his hands strapped behind his back in an identical pair of cuffs, and Bill tries to stand but Georg forces him down again as Gustav comes to help Tom put the cuffs on. They’re stiff and Gustav has to fight to get them to buckle up properly, but Georg insists on them being done up all the way.  
  
Behind Tom’s back.  
  
Now he’s exposed to the other three, or rather two, since Bill is still facing the chair, and only Georg and Gustav are paying him any attention, but Tom can’t help feeling what he feels. He’s so fucking hard it’s as though if Georg just fucking looks at him the wrong way he’s going to make a real fool of himself by coming in his panties, and he’s absolutely fucking going mental from the urge to just do it anyway.  
  
Seriously. What a way to go — insanity by lack of orgasm. It’ll be the least rockstar way to die. Ever.  
  
“Kneel.” Georg leaves Bill on the floor in front of the chair as he addresses Tom, and Bill whimpers when the hand on his back goes away and Tom slides to his knees on the pale blue blanket on the floor that’s been set out for him special.  
  
He lost the fucking panty gamble; prayed for Georg’s black boy shorts and got this pair of girlie knickers instead, and Bill hardly fared much better, and they’re left waiting for Georg to make up his mind as to what’s going to happen now.  
  
And he can’t wait.  
  
“Suck.” Georg’s panties are folded down, exposing his dick, and Tom knows exactly what to do. He’s been doing it often enough anyway, and he’s good at it too. Maybe it’s the whole oral fixation thing he and Bill have got but they’re awesome at it, so much better than Georg or Gustav. And Tom’s even better at it than Bill, and he’s proved it over and over because he can bring them off just like that.  
  
Tom purposely avoids thinking it’s because he gets more practise than any of the others that makes him so much better at it.  
  
Georg’s hand brushes down the side of his face as Tom licks and sucks and uses every little thing he has learnt in the last three years or so about Georg’s dick to bring him off quickly, remembering to hum low in his throat and take Georg as far down as he can because not even Bill can do that yet and Georg adores it. It’s messy and difficult because he can’t steady either himself or Georg’s dick with his hand, and he clenches his fists as Georg slides his dick out of Tom’s mouth with a pop.  
  
“ _Cocksucker_ ,” Bill snarls from across the room and Gustav vanishes from Tom’s sight, disappearing behind Georg to see to Bill’s temper tantrum, but Tom is more concerned about Georg’s dick that’s slid right back into his mouth after Georg adjusts himself. “Bitc—”  
  
"Shut your mouth, Bill," Tom warns, but Georg pops his mouth open with an insistent thumb and Tom is put back to work.  
  
"You're a whore, Tom, a fucking whore!" Bill is snarling, angry because he's being forced to kneel and submit and be left all on his own as Tom is lavished with attention from both Georg and Gustav, praised for his mouth, his hair stroked and his cheeks caressed by Georg’s fingers that aren't Bill's to command.  
  
When they're playing the game, they can all speak freely, use words and language that they would never dream of using outside but it means that Bill's need to be heard, to be acknowledged is even more prominent.  
  
Tom just raises his eyebrow, takes a deep breath, and forces himself to deep throat Georg, from tip to base, and even Gustav whistles in appreciation as Tom comes up for air and then repeats his feat. He's not doing because he likes it - it's more work than it's worth in his opinion. He's doing it because deep throat is one of the many things that Bill just can't quite manage yet and Tom will only stop gloating over that fact the day Bill learns to deep throat Georg properly and consistently.  
  
Tom's been doing it for over two years now, and he grins at Bill, knowing exactly what's turning his brother pear shaped in envy.  
  
Bill on the other hand isn't impressed. "Bitch!" he hisses at Tom.  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Gustav demands, and there’s a sharp crack of skin on skin from where Gustav smacks Bill’s thigh or backside — Gustav likes both.  
  
“Play in-nicely, Bill,” Georg pants as Tom redoubles his efforts. “Or do you want Gustav to find the c-crop?”  
  
“…No.” It’s one of Gustav’s favourite toys, but both the twins loathe it with a passion. They hate the white stripes that turn through pink into red, and last for days. They hate the snap and crack of it on skin, and the feel of it between their thighs, and on their cocks, and their balls, waiting for the next blow to fall as Gustav forces them down to rest foreheads on the carpet and their backsides in the perfect position to make sitting down tomorrow hell on earth.  
  
Gustav can’t use it on Georg because the bassist would probably snap it in half with one hand if he tried it. So he capitalises on when he can actually use it and now is a very good time.  
  
“Then face the fucking wall and shut your goddamn mouth until I tell you not to.” Gustav’s voice is gravelly, and Bill moans loudly as another slap rings out.  
  
“Stop, Tom,” Georg demands, and Tom is left bereft as the other man takes his dick away, and he can’t help whimpering, leaning forward as if to follow it. “Eager, are we?”  
  
“Shut up.” Tom blushes, and Georg laughs at him, helps him to stand, and pushes him towards the bed.  
  
“Against the headboard.” The panties are so silky, and Tom shudders as they cradle his aching dick when Georg makes him sit at the head of the bed, knees so far apart that he could have all three of them between them, never mind …  
  
Never mind _Bill_ …  
  
Georg selects Bill, as Tom thought he would, to work with the bitch tonight - partly because he’s probably feeling lazy and partly because the rhythm section of the band just love to see Tom and Bill go at it. So Tom’s not surprise whose cuffs are detached from the chains and who’s pushed to kneel between Tom’s legs, and he likes the fact that it’s Bill who’s forced to lean down, kiss Tom, but actually, not a lot of force is needed and Tom welcomes the familiar lips.  
  
Kissing’s a new kink for Tom but he’s starting to get into it, thanks to Gustav’s endless fascination with watching him and Bill go at it. No expectation of sex, just the slow slide of their lips, Bill’s tongue piercing warm and hard in a mouth that’s soft and wet, and Tom’s lip ring catching on it, clinking dully together. Bill kisses with his eyes open but he likes Tom’s closed; blind and focused on the sensations given to him, and to be honest, it’s pretty damn good.  
  
They’re pretty damn good, him and Bill.  
  
It started, like most things in their life, with a lazy September afternoon. Georg taught Tom to start with and then he moved on to more people, different people, people who knew how to do _amazing_ things with their tongue and lips, and then Tom taught Georg right back.  
  
And then he taught Bill because Bill asked, and Gustav wanted to see, and Georg enjoyed watching them make out in the studio living room.  
  
“Are you okay?” he whispers as Bill kisses his way down Tom’s neck, and there’s an answering hum that probably means _yes_ but Tom needs to know if it does mean _yes_ or if he’s mis-reading it. “Bill!”  
  
“Shut up, Tom.” Bill swipes a hot tongue across Tom’s nipple and that’s it for Tom. He falls back into the pillows, tries to buck up into Bill’s embrace, but Georg isn’t having it and Tom is pushed back down by a strong hand in the centre of his chest. Bill rocks up his hips, and Tom moans as he feels Bill’s cock through both layers of panties. “That answer your question?” Bill pants into his ear as he tries to press closer even as Georg is pulling him away.  
  
“Mmm…” Tom moans as Bill is redirected back to his nipples even as Gustav peels down the black cotton bow panties that so betrayed Bill by putting him in second bitch position to expose Bill’s waiting backside.  
  
In a few seconds, Tom is undone, abandoned to Bill’s tongue and teeth and hot wet mouth on his chest, alternating between tongue and suction on his nipples until they tighten into the little peaks that Georg sometimes torments further with clamps and clothes pegs.  
  
He tries to look around, see if that is what’s going to happen tonight but Georg isn’t by the bed anymore. He’s over by the bag in the corner, and Tom knows that’s the play bag but then Bill suckles at his nipple again and by the time he’s back on planet Earth, Georg is back beside the bed and whatever he was getting is hidden.  
  
In the reflection of the wardrobe mirror, Tom can see the red hand print on Bill’s cheek, and it’s a brand against the white skin as Gustav accepts the lube from Georg.  
  
Bill flinches when Gustav begins to prep him, just touching him on the outside, and suddenly Tom quite longs to be in Bill’s position because Gustav is so good at prep that it’s a work of art in itself. He might be a drummer but his fingers are just as talented as Georg or Tom’s own, and he likes to take his time, alternating one, two, and three fingers, maybe even his mouth to rim his chosen victim, and it’s like the most perfect torture ever.  
  
Tom kisses his twin with desperate, hungry lips, but Bill is hardly responding, and Georg doesn’t even take pity on him and force Bill to actually play with his brother like he’s supposed to.  
  
Not until Gustav has had his fun.  
  
Tom slumps backwards, sulking because he’s being left alone, and he wishes he hadn’t lost the fucking pair of panties from the last round because at least then he was second bitch, not the first, and he might win the fashion show that Bill had organised for next concert night because these ones are apparently really bad luck.  
  
He’s hard and desperate and nobody’s paying any attention to him.  
  
He waits, listening in quiet anguish as Bill moans and gasps and fucking whimpers while Gustav works his magic, and Georg watches, waiting, biding his time.  
  
It’s like being stuck in a time freeze until Georg reaches out, touches Bill on the face. “Bill.”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Move.” And Georg is forcing Bill backwards, pulling him up off all fours until he’s resting back against Gustav’s chest, knees wide apart. Tom can see Gustav’s hand working overtime between Bill’s slender thighs, identical to Tom’s own. “Relax, Tom,” Georg shushes Tom’s complaints as the cool, air-conditioned air gives him goose bumps.  
  
“Want.” He’s reduced to ludicrously short words, desperate and horny and out of his mind with the sensations that his body is feeding back to him — the cotton of the duvet beneath his skin, the silk of his panties, and the smell of Bill’s arousal as Gustav reaches round, peels the damp cotton away from Bill’s leaking cock.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Anything.” Kisses, penetration, rimming, fingering, a blowjob — whether he’s giving it or receiving it or even both at the same time — he will take anything he can get at this moment. A horny Tom is a very eager to please Tom, it turns out and it’s so easy to get him going. Georg never forgets it.  
  
And he never fails to act on it, either.  
  
“Get up then.” Georg pushes him off the bed and takes his place. Tom is left sprawled on the carpet like an unwanted toy, feeling a lot like he should just take off the fucking panties and call it quits, never mind the Penalty for ending the Game early.    
  
Way back when they invented the Game, they made the first rules, and the very first of the first that they introduced was the rule that if you ended the Game early without a good reason; like, fucking dying for example, you would have to pay. And pay _big_ time.  
  
Tom’s almost ready to just accept being the bitch for the rest of the tour because at least it would mean tonight is over, but Georg beckons him back up again.  
  
“Sit.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“That’s the plan, Tom.” Georg grins at him and Tom really wonders why he does these things. “Because I said so.”  
  
“Because you’re feeling lazy, you mean,” Tom grumbles but he knows what he’s doing. Gustav is still fingering Bill at the end of the bed which probably means it’s going to end up with Tom being fucked by Georg as Bill is fucked by Gustav, and neither he nor Bill have anything to do but kiss and make out in the middle.  
  
It’s kind of hot but a lot messy, but the twins have a lot of practise anyway at doing things that are hot and messy and difficult. Now Georg is fucking pointing at his dick constrained in the extremely tight boy shorts and his face is expectant. “Time to ride, Tom.”  
  
Still wearing the handcuffs to boot.  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” Doing this without cuffs is hard enough, requiring strong hips and thighs, and with the cuffs it’s almost impossible.  
  
“Bitch.” Georg’s tone is light but his words aren’t, and Tom knows he’s the bitch tonight, and he doesn’t have a choice.  
  
“Next time, I’m gonna pull out the fucking boy shorts, and I’m gonna make you regret every fucking minute of this, Hagen,” Tom swears as he climbs onto the bed, straddling Georg. “You want it this way first?”  
  
“Yeah, well.... I’m wearing the pants right now, Tom, so you can keep your little fantasies of being on top for a little while longer.”  
  
“Lube?” Tom waves his hand back in the direction of Bill and Gustav, but instead of the bottle, Gustav speaks.  
  
“Do him, Bill.”  
  
“Urgh.” Bill’s annoyed, probably because he was so fucking close, but it’s not long before Tom hears the squirt of the bottle of lube as Bill prepares to make Tom ready for Georg. “Hold still, bitch.” He orders Tom.  
  
“Fuck you. Least you could do is warm it up for a guy,” Tom hisses back at his brother but Bill just huffs, shuffling further up the bed to better reach Tom’s backside.  
  
“God, you’re such a fucking pansy,” Georg says, but Tom knows that Georg usually takes special care to warm up the oil or the lube when he’s the one doing the prep because it’s just _being nice to the guy you’re about to fuck_ and Bill’s not actually that considerate.  
  
“Shut up, and take it like a proper bitch then,” Bill snipes and his fingers press against Tom’s entrance. “Will you relax?”  
  
“You relax fuckwit!” Tom’s tense all over though and he can’t seem to untense because it’s a deep stress moment for him.  
  
When they’re together, just him and Bill messing around for sex, Bill’s not usually as pushy or as bitchy as this, and then Tom’s okay because it’s just them. Even if Georg and Gustav watch, it’s like they’re in their own little world, just him and Bill, and knowing how to please each other just like that.  
  
 Flat on his back, letting Bill take him, or their hands joined together as Bill rides him... It’s always just them in their own little world, even with onlookers and voyeurs who ask them to take it slow, or turn into the light from the skylight a little more.  
  
Out here, in this big, bright world where Georg is warm beneath him and Gustav quiet and solid behind Bill, he’s struggling to relax into that zone again.  
  
“Play nicely, Bill,” Georg warns and he reaches up, strokes hands that are bigger than Tom’s own down Tom’s chest, brushing past his nipples, counting his ribs with slow, deliberate taps. It’s tactile stimulation, gentle and soft and this is why Georg is a better Games Master than Bill.  
  
Bill’s all about himself and making others please him, and even though it’s nice to do that for him and Bill gives good rewards, sometimes, it’s nice to not do what is essentially Tom’s job for weeks on end anyway—please **Bill** , keep **Bill** happy, make sure everything goes to _Bill’s_ plan.  
  
Georg is all about other people, keeping them working together, and even if someone is the bitch, Georg is good to them anyway, keeping them in the game, touched and tasted and enjoyed.  
  
 He says _sharing is caring_ and though it’s usually a joke, when Tom’s stuck as the bitch, like he has been for the last few sessions (and most of the ones before that as well, even during album production, actually...), he takes relief in knowing that even though he’s going to have to work the hardest, he’s still going to be part of the action. It’s pretty with the same with Gustav. When they play with him as Master, they all tend to end up frustrated and desperate but at least then it’s equal and fair.  
  
Gustav’s big on being fair, just like Georg, but he likes the more drastic end of the scale.  
  
Bill likes to stick the bitch out on a chair somewhere and make him wait until he’s a tormented, teased, horny mess. Tom’s bored of being handcuffed to the chair, knees spread and a toy wedged where the sun don’t shine because Bill _adores_ calling him a bitch with the itch, and not allowed to touch himself. More precisely, not **able** to touch himself but Bill doesn’t bother himself with technicalities like that.  
  
And Tom really is sick of it. Really. Absolutely sick up to the back teeth with it. Totally.  
  
Gustav nudges Bill again, and Tom feels his brother’s fingers brushing against his hole again but they’re not as demanding now, just gently pressing into him and the lube is finally warmed up. Georg’s fingers don’t stop moving, and Tom is able to start the slow process of sinking down into that warm, soft zone where everything is easier if he just gives up the control.  
  
He whimpers as Bill hits his prostate, rubbing over it with one careful finger, and he can feel precome practically dripping down his leg now from all the copious amounts of leaking he’s managing to do through the panties. Georg smears his hand in the mess that’s descending down Tom’s thigh, spreading the slickness everywhere.  
  
“God, you’re just like a girl — so wet you’re dripping.” He grins. “Are you a girl then, Tom? Girlie? How about we get Bill to go and find his stockings for you? Hmm?” Tom moans, unable to think beyond _so horny_ and _need more_ and _oh God_ and Bill hums as he licks a stripe down Tom’s neck.  
  
“You are such a fucking bitch,” Bill whispers in Tom’s ear, “A little bitch and Georg is gonna fuck you raw, just like he promised-”  
  
“And Gustav’s g-gonna ride your ass all fucking night,” Tom pants back, “Because you’re the second bitch, fuckwit.”  
  
“Shut up, both of you,” Gustav intervenes, and he does something with his fingers that makes Bill buck up, gasp in Tom’s ear, “Ah, no, Bill...” Bill moans as Gustav keeps tormenting him, “Keep prepping Tom, bitch.”  
  
“Fuck y-”  
  
“Shut your mouth and use your fingers.” Gustav’s laughing, but the slap he delivers to Bill’s thigh when Bill snarls back at him is not funny and Tom can feel Bill’s frustration as he jabs his fingers deeper inside of his brother.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Shut up and take it, Tom,” Bill hisses but he slows down, letting Tom get used to the penetration, and Georg grins as both twins shudder in pleasure.  
  
“Good bitch,” Georg praises and Tom would really like to respond to that but he’s not really able to think about anything more complex than _mmmm_ and _more_ and _that feels awesome._  
  
“F-fu- oh!” Tom’s too distracted to say anything as Bill presses a kiss to the back of his neck, scissoring his fingers as he prepares Tom for Georg’s impressive dick, but it’s a slow process, one that is going to drive Tom to the brink of insanity.  
  
They work together, Gustav working Bill, Bill working Tom and Georg driving Tom insane from constantly playing with his nipples, pressing a careless hand against his cock through the wet silk, making Tom suck on his fingers like a fucking bitch — _like the bitch that you are, Tom_   — and he loves it.  
  
Abso-fucking-lutely **loves** it.  
  
Only when Bill deems him ready do those long fingers withdraw, unlacing the little ribbons on the side with two quick tugs, and the silk panties fall away to be thrown aside. Only when Tom is once again horribly empty does Georg slick his own dick up, and then his hands are on Tom’s hips, pressing him down, and it’s the work of a moment to slide down Georg’s dick until he’s balls deep inside Tom and it’s like being impaled for a few brief moments.  
  
“You all right?” Bill asks, one hand on Tom’s shoulder in concern but Tom can’t speak. He’s full. So fucking full, it’s like a fucking baseball bat and he struggles to breathe, never mind do anything else complex like talking.  
  
“Tom?” Georg strokes a finger down his face and Tom shudders. He could have done with a slow working in, not the harsh thrust/sink combo that led to this current situation, and he hasn’t even got his hands to steady himself anymore.... Tom’s never gonna remember it anyway because he does it every time. “Take it easy…”  
  
“Mmm.” It’s not a word but it’s a something, and Tom runs with it, tentatively lifting a fraction and Georg hisses loudly.  
  
“Y-you okay to move then?”  
  
“Shut up.” Tom forces out between gritted teeth, and he lifts himself up a little more. Georg moans and Tom grins. “You want to be ridden? Then shut up and let me work.”  
  
But Georg doesn’t like that, and Tom knew he wouldn’t, and he sets a punishing pace, forcing Tom to ride him hard and fast just as he promised in the green room earlier and it’s amazing. Behind him, Bill sounds like Gustav is doing just the same to him and Tom is so so so so fucking close when —  
  
“Stop - get off.” What? Is that _get off_ as in _jack off_ or _get off_ as in _move your body away from mine_? Tom is just plain confused but it’s soon made clear to him when Georg makes him stop rising and falling and he almost topples into the hard chest beneath him from the lack of support, his hands still strapped behind his back, and he’s completely unable to anything but follow Georg’s unspoken command to bow his head and wait for more instructions.  
  
And then the cuffs are undone.

 


	3. The Bitch's Best

 

**Chapter Three**

The Bitch's Best

  
  
The chain between the cuffs is unclipped by Bill’s fingers at Georg’s barked order and dropped on the floor and the dull thud it makes when it hits the pale blue carpet is muffled in Tom’s ears. “Be a good boy, Tom,” Gustav says, and Tom nods. It means more than just play nicely; it means stay in that zone of obedience.  
  
It kind of hurts when Georg pushes Tom away and off his dick to turn him around, and it stings a little as he pulls out, the slick sound loud in the quiet room. Suddenly, Tom is face to face with Bill and Gustav while Georg forces him to go on hands and knees with a hand on the back of his neck.  
  
Bill is forced into the same position, his head just beside Tom’s, and Tom steals a quick kiss because there’s a brief moment of rest while Georg and Gustav reach for lube again.  
  
Tom feels Bill lace their fingers together and he takes the calm that Bill is offering, needing to stay relaxed and open for Georg or it’ll really hurt, no matter how gentle he tries to be. It’s a bit difficult to be delicate when you’re Georg’s size, no matter how slow you take it.  
  
“Ready?” Gustav asks and Tom’s not sure who it’s asked of, but he answers with a nod. Beside him, Bill does the same, and Georg hums in approval as he slides back into Tom at the same time Gustav thrusts deep into Bill.  
  
Bill moans and Tom presses his head against Bill’s, their shoulders touching, and Tom presses his lips to Bill’s cheek.  
  
“Love you,” he murmurs, needing Bill to know that.  
  
Bill doesn’t answer, but his hand tightens around Tom’s and that’s enough to tell that Bill wants to say the same.  
  
Georg and Gustav set a brutal regime, forcing Tom and Bill to take it and they do. Georg makes sure to test them both right to their limits, encouraging Gustav to really make Bill feel it, fighting to make sure that Tom stays down and pliant when he tries to rise up. When Tom tries to get up, adjust his position, Georg forces him down again with a hand on the back of his neck, curling around the side in a parody of a claw.  
  
“Stay down, Tom.”  
  
“Need to — can’t—” Tom tries to rise again, needing to stop sliding further and further forward - he’ll be level with Bill’s ass in a minute if this carries on, but Georg just drags him backwards by the hips without even taking his fucking dick out and that’s the end of the matter, apparently. Tom needs to fucking put on weight or something - being manhandled does nothing for his male pride.  
  
His dick, on the other hand...  
  
“Good boy, Bill,” Gustav spits out the praise between breaths, and Bill moans, and whimpers because Gustav pulling his head up by his hair, forcing him to look straight ahead and there is nowhere to hide anymore for Bill. “Are you enjoying this?”  
  
“Fuck you, Gustav!” Bill bites back but his hand is clenched tight around Tom’s and between his legs, his dick is dark and throbbing, leaking precome all over the bedspread and Tom knows that Bill is close.  
  
“I. Asked. You. A. Question.” Gustav punctuates each word with a snap of his hips, driving himself deeper into Bill - so deep, in fact, that Bill slides forward a little each time, “Are you enjoying this?”  
  
“You’re a goddamn bastard, Shafer,” Bill snaps back but his voice, far from being loud and forceful, is weak and it cracks half way through and Gustav hears it.  
  
“I’ll take that as yes, then, Bill.”  
  
“Screw you.”  
  
“Other way round, Bill,” Georg laughs, breathless but not faltering in the slightest. “And shut your fucking mouth or I’ll assume you want that filled as well.”  
  
“Y-yes, Geo...” His voice is thin, and Tom leans his shoulder into Bill’s, sensing some comfort is needed as Gustav systematically destroys every ounce of control Bill possesses, making him beg, moan, gasp, wail, and fight to stay on his knees the entire time.  
  
Tom feels awed to see it.  
  
Gustav finishes first, pulling out and jacking off over Bill’s naked back, the white streaks reaching up onto the tattoo on the back of Bill’s neck, and Tom loves to see it but Bill groans as he reaches around, tries to swipe it off because it feels <i> gross. </i>  
  
Gustav loves it - it's like marking his territory, designating the bitch as his and Tom prays that Gustav doesn't try to get him involved in bukkake, because being covered in one guy's come is a bit gross, two guys' nasty, and three only just this side of tolerable. Tom swears to fucking God, the day Gustav suggests ten guys like in _Big Bitch Bukkake_ \- Tokio Hotel is going to need a new drummer when their current one ends up floating down stream in the Rhine.    
  
“Leave it, Bill,” Georg orders and he pulls out again, pushing Tom onto his back, moving him under Bill who remains on his hands and knees and Tom knows what’s expected of him. Underneath Bill is warm and familiar, he’s done this countless times before since sixty-nine is one of Gustav’s favourite moves to watch between the twins; but also it’s one of their favourite moves and he just likes it. Being under Bill like this, it’s a strange feeling, like he’s protected from the world above as he takes care of his brother. It feels … secure. Safe.  
  
Like home.  
  
Bill spreads his knees when Gustav tells him to, and Tom goes to work again, doing what he does best. It’s easier on Bill rather than Georg or even Gustav, partly because it’s Bill — and despite his attempts to be cool, he’s really quite a simple dude, going for the classic little bit of tongue, teeth, and hand and not much else — and partly because Tom has been doing this since he was thirteen and he damn well knows how to get Bill off. He’s damn good and Bill is helpless under his mouth.  
  
He’s been doing the same to Georg and Gustav for about the same amount of time, but you know, practise makes perfect, and Bill was always around to practise _on_ …  
  
So maybe Bill’s accusation of being a cocksucker isn’t quite as inaccurate as Tom would like it to be, but right now, Bill is reaping the benefit of the hours of practise Tom has had over the last four and a half years learning the tricks and tips of making a good blowjob great.  
  
The hours of porn that Tom used to watch weren’t just for his own wanking pleasure. Mostly.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tom!” Bill is moaning and whimpering like a baby, begging and howling. “Oh my God, Tom - fu-fuck!” and Tom feels no small amount of pride in managing to render his baby brother like this. He’s noisier than he ever is with Gustav or even Georg, begging and pleading and reduced to a state of complete submission in seconds.  
  
Tom’s kind of impressed about it, really.  
  
And so pleased with his work. Gustav fucked Bill hard enough to rock the bed, pulled his hair, forced him to his knees, hurt him by hitting him and he had to fight to get Bill to submit. A few seconds over Tom and Bill is a panting, wailing, mess, begging to come.  
  
“Get him off, Tom,” Georg orders, reaching down to Tom’s own dick to hold back the orgasm that threatens to build, and Tom groans around the dick in his mouth. He’s close and desperate to come, but Georg slaps his thigh and Tom knows the quicker he works the quicker he’ll be getting off himself.  
  
He grabs Bill’s hips, drags him nearer and he goes to fucking town over his brother’s dick — noisy slurps, licking, kissing, even sneaking a hand around to finger Bill as well just because it always seems to get Bill going and it pays off.  
  
In less than three minutes, Bill is moaning Tom’s name as he comes hot and thick in Tom’s mouth, and Tom has no choice but to swallow like the bitch role requires and it’s a long minute of silence afterwards.  
  
Tom just carries on licking and suckling at Bill’s cock, milking him dry, and just in general sucking Bill soft - it’s one of his speciality things to do to his brother because it drives Bill nuts. He keeps going until he gets a half-hearted slap on the belly.  
  
“Cut it out, Tomi,” Bill murmurs as Gustav helps him climb off of Tom. “Sensitive…”  
  
“So bite me.” Tom stretches out a hand and Bill takes it anyway. Bill is always very cuddly after he’s come, so Tom isn’t surprised when he gets Bill curling around him, pressing their naked bodies together as Georg just rocks into him in tiny increments. When a carefully manicured hand reaches down, caresses one of Tom’s nipples, Tom just closes his eyes, accepting the touch for what it is: touch, the need to be close, the desire to feel in a way that’s not usual, and he bends his head, kisses the inside of Bill’s forearm, and it’s perfect.  
  
Georg steps it down, stopping the brutal pace from the beginning of the night, making it slow and gentle, and it’s like being fucked by a mountain, it’s that slow and careful. Gustav sits on the bed beside Tom, holding his dick absently in his fist as he jacks off in time to Georg’s torturous pace, and Bill is curled around Tom, holding him close and stroking at his chest, thumbing his nipples with warm fingers. There’s nothing to do but take it, and Tom curls his legs around Georg’s waist, tilting his hips to meet his lover’s, and he moans and whimpers and takes every inch that the man is willing to give him and then some.  
  
He’s earned it.  
  
Eventually though even Georg tires, and he leans over Tom, kissing him over and over with desperation that doesn’t appear anywhere else in the room, and he comes very slowly, like a slow flood as he moans into Tom’s mouth.  
  
“Good boy,” Gustav says, stroking along Tom’s side, and Georg echoes the sentiment as he stops kissing Tom’s lips, starts making his way down his neck, and Bill hums in contentment. “So good.”  
  
“Mmm. Yeah.” Tom’s still got a really big fucking problem and it’s called his dick and its fucking ready to drop off or something. “Please?” He’s still polite though, and Georg snickers as he reaches down to take care of it.  
  
“Can I?” Bill leans over Tom, and he’s already hard again and Tom knows exactly what Bill’s asking for.  
  
Another sixty-nine, but their kind this time, and Georg and Gustav share a look before nodding in unison. “Go on. Play nicely though.”  
  
Tom is stuck on the bottom — or maybe that’s just how it always happens, he’s not got enough brain cells left to devote to intelligent thought — but Bill is back above him in the familiar position, and Tom knows enough to understand what he’s meant to do. He’s back suckling on Bill before he can even consciously process it, but Georg is separating them too quickly.  
  
“Wha—?” He’s not sure what happened but Georg turns him on his side, and Gustav is doing the same to Bill, and then they’re back together. Maybe they just wanted a better view, and Tom just takes it nice and easy this time; long and lazy, he makes it last because what’s the rush now? He’s aching and hard but drawing it out makes it feel nicer, makes the rush last longer, and that’s something else that Georg has taught all four of them, and Tom tries to use it as often as possible.  
  
He’s a pleasure seeker but only the very best pleasure, thanks.  
  
“Shush, Bill,” Gustav runs his fingers along Bill’s side, soothing down the moans that Bill keeps making, and Georg is stroking along Tom’s neck with one hand as the other brushes against Tom’s ass, dipping into the crack with insistent, gentle fingers.  
  
“There’s a good boy.” The praise is soft, and Tom knows that Bill is receiving the same treatment from Gustav that he is from Georg, and it’s a little sore down there, a little raw and painful but he knows what he’s doing is right because Georg’s hand is warm and gentle inside him The come that’s already there is lube enough when mixed with the thick gel left behind from before, and Tom lifts up his leg, trying to get Georg to go deeper, to stop fucking around - pardon the pun - and just go for it.  
  
Bill does the same beside him and Tom sees Gustav’s strong arm between Bill’s bare thighs, and it’s a familiar sight.  
  
Bill’s mouth on his dick is slow and hot, and even though he’s not as experienced as Tom, he’s pretty damn close. He knows Tom almost as much as Tom knows him, so they’re pretty evenly matched breath for breath, lick for lick, suck for suck.  
  
And Georg keeps finger-fucking him, slow and careful, and Gustav’s eyes are dark as he stares at the places Tom is joined to his brother — his mouth and his dick — and Tom sighs as he comes.  
  
Almost in the same instant, his mouth is flooded again, and it’s thick and musky but it’s familiar and normal, and Tom swallows it down without complaint.  
  
“Good boys,” Georg withdraws his fingers, and Tom flinches at the raw sensation that’s left behind. “Sorry, Tom.”  
  
“S’alright,” Tom murmurs but he’s very tired now. Even though he’s one orgasm down compared to the other three, he can feel the spatter on his shoulder from Georg’s second from where he jacked himself off with one hand when the other was knuckles deep in Tom, and Gustav is currently presenting Tom with the hand that’s covered in his second to be licked clean. Tom is absolutely exhausted, and Bill is too, cuddling close to Tom’s belly, naked and covered in seminal fluid as well.  
  
Nap time now, Tom thinks, but Gustav insistently nudges his lips with sticky fingers and sleep has to wait a little longer.  
  
He gets to work licking Gustav’s hand clean, and his mouth tastes like Bill and a little Gustav and it’s musky and salty and weird, but he’s swallowed so much of it recently, he’s not actually that bothered anymore. He sucks on Gustav’s thumb a little more than he intended, hardly noticing until Georg draws a blanket over the two of them and Tom lets go with a reluctant little whine that he doesn’t actually intend to make.  
  
“Tired?” Gustav chuckles as Tom yawns widely, followed a second later by Bill who flaps a hand in the direction of the light switch and nuzzles closer to Tom’s belly.  
  
“We’ll wake you in a couple of hours,” Georg reassures him, and Tom sighs, half in contented sleepiness and half in tired appreciation.  
  
Round two.  
  
He can’t wait.

 

 

from innerlich's tumblr again. Pair to Georg's pic.

 

 

 

from kaulitzkingdom

 

 

 


End file.
